About The Ones Who Are Left Behind
by zorro x
Summary: A chilling conclusion to the final battle has left Harry lost and bitter, and nobody else seems to know... Character Death, Angst, and the worst possible end to winning...


**About The Ones Who Are Left Behind**  
  
  
They didn't know.   
  
That, Harry decided, staring at the faces around him, young and eager and full of hope, that was the problem. They didn't know. He felt an irrational urge to scream at them, to tell them simply that they weren't wanted, that there were people who should be here that they couldn't just march in and pretend that they _knew_... But he said nothing. He never really said anything much anyway.   
  
He was going to graduate in a month or two- he didn't really know. He knew he should be studying but couldn't, remembering the complex schedules Hermione had drawn up and color coded, Ron's fond exasperation, his own laughter and dismissal. Even then, he had been fighting the Dark Lord, even then he had been battling and fighting the war. But he hadn't _known._   
  
They tried to tell him that it would be okay. The new head of Gryffindor House was a young woman with yellow hair who wore flashy robes that McGonagall would never have approved of, and she told him time and time again that it would be okay, that he could house with the younger boys if he wanted, that things would work out all right. He hated her, distantly and briefly, thinking of the tight half-smiles and the love he had had for the woman who should have been there. And it would never be okay.   
  
He was the only one left. His class was the smallest to ever graduate from Hogwarts- it was only him, Parvati Patil, Hannah Abbot, Crabbe, and Queenie Greengrass. There were no Ravenclaws, which was a pity because the Ravenclaws were the people who could have made the lot of them work and study, which they should have been doing but _couldn't._ Draco Malfoy was alive, too, but he was locked in Azkaban screaming at the shadows of Dementors. The five of them were wraiths, ghosts, flittering listlessly through Hogwarts with blind eyes. They were the only ones left.   
  
Ginny Weasley's year was vastly depleted as well, and some of the fifth years. But from there the school was still whole, still cheerful, the students could still smile- the didn't _know._ The new Headmaster was a young man, brilliant and compassionate and wanting only the best for his students. He had ideas for then future, ways to make the school better, ways to change. Harry didn't want change; he wanted Dumbledore. But Dumbledore had died in that final battle, along with the world.   
  
It had been the crux of everything he had wanted in his life, the moment when he could turn the world around. They had been fighting, and dying, and falling bodies were crushed by more bodies, but Voldemort was there and he was going to die and it would all be all right again. But it wasn't, because destroying Voldemort had destroyed the world, and nobody had been left standing but him, shielded by the body of the old Headmaster, who had loved him. And he had crawled away knowing that there was nobody else.   
  
They were always asking how he was, if he was okay, was there anything they could do. They were always saying they were sorry, but he had to move on, maybe a speech or statement for the press? They had to reassemble the quidditch team, Harry, do you want to help? Poor boy, lost everyone. Poor boy, the only survivor. Poor boy, can't cope. Poor boy....   
  
They didn't know, and that was the problem. Parvati knew, with her hollow eyes, her vacant stare. She was constantly looking for someone who wasn't there, for Lavender or Padma or really anyone at all. She screamed at night so badly that Ginny cast silencing spells on her door, and hugged the first years whispering that it would be okay. Parvati knew, and it was breaking her.   
  
They didn't know, the new teachers. The new Care of Magical Creatures teacher was an old woman named Madam McKinley, with a kindly smile and a way with animals and students that made her classes the most enviable, the most perfect. She would never dream of putting her students in danger, of studying flobberworms or smuggling dragons. She was perfect. Harry hated her with a passion. She didn't _know._  
  
Crabbe knew, with the pain of someone on the losing side of a battle. He was studying as hard as he could, hoping to get a scholarship to art school after Hogwarts, drawing and painting and even, occasionally, sculpting. He was better than Dean had ever been and Harry hated him for it, and for the tattoo in the shape of a skull and serpent that no longer graced his wrist. Crabbe would smile at him in class, and Harry would smile back, and they occasionally stole a grope at night, when the world slept. Crabbe knew.   
  
Neville had died more bravely than anyone would have thought possible, far before the last battle, sacrificing himself for Hermione. She had been raped anyway, but the aurors had arrived in time to save her life. She had screamed when someone touched her, had become reclusive and withdrawn. Ron had held onto her and swore to never let go. He was killed two weeks into Seventh Year, at an attack on Order Headquarters. Hermione had withered away weeks later, finally jumping off the astronomy tower. Harry had found her body in the morning.   
  
Hannah Abbot and Queenie Greengrass were friends, best friends, practically attached at the hip. Queenie was merely a ghost of a person who clung to Hannah like a lifeline, as Hermione had once clung to Ron, leaving Harry alone and helpless. Hannah would watch Queenie as Ron had watched Hermione, with eyes old and tired. Harry knew what would happen, had seen it before. Queenie and Hannah knew.   
  
The new Mediwitch had just completed her training, and was firmly resolved that everything broken could be fixed. Harry hated her for that- knowing full well that nothing truly broken could ever truly be fixed. He knew the sting of death and torture, of madness and suicide. He knew how it felt to kill a man in so many ways, how it felt to be killed and have the life slipping out of you with every breath, every drop of blood. Harry knew what it was to be broken. He hated her for not _knowing._   
  
Everyone had died. All the Death Eaters not in Azkaban or on separate missions, all the members of the Order of The Phoenix, half of the aurors, all of the seventh year students not in the hospital wing or at home, or being Harry. All of the teachers at Hogwarts, half the ones at Durmstrang and Beuxbatons. Snape, Lupin, Tonks, The Weasleys- save Ginny, who had been deemed too young- Moody, McGonagall, Seamus, Dean, Fleur, Cho, Kingsley, Terry Boot, and so many, many more- everyone he had ever cared about was gone. And nobody else _knew._   
  
  



End file.
